HCAW 154

Chapter 154: Zhen Gives Way to Li ¹reference drawn from the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) system in Chinese cosmology, particularly the I Ching (Book of Changes). 震 (Zhèn): the Thunder trigram, representing movement, initiative, beginnings. 離 (Lí): the Fire trigram, symbolizing clarity, illumination, and detachment.

At dawn the next day, a gust of wind rushed into the tent, slicing across the face like a blade. Langgan Guard sat alone before the brazier, his brow tightly furrowed.

As he recalled the events of the previous night, he found them completely absurd. The Fang Minsheng he once knew had been courteous and refined—now he was full of wild, nonsensical talk, like a bristling stray dog. Chu Kuang was indeed Fang Minsheng, but one who had suffered bitterly, rolled through the mire, been cruelly tormented, grown familiar with the dark sides of humanity, and lived among rough commoners for eight years. He had become brash, unruly, and hardened. The more Langgan Guard thought on this, the more pain filled his heart.

Langgan Guard had long since sworn to himself that he would see to it Chu Kuang never suffered again. Once they passed the ice wall, he’d planned to take him into seclusion to rest and heal. But judging by last night’s signs, not only could these two brothers—Chu Kuang and Fang Jingyu—not be separated, they had even entangled themselves in a secret affair! Langgan Guard shivered. He couldn’t understand how such a thing had happened. Fang Jingyu had always seemed cold and detached—how could he have ended up in such a relationship with his own brother?

And yet, when he thought of Chu Kuang, despite all his crudeness and wildness, the way he knew how to entice and seduce with every glance and gesture, his every move tempting and disarming—it was clear he carried the air of someone long trained in pleasing others. Langgan Guard let out a low sigh, burying his face in his hands.

Not long after, Chu Kuang walked into the tent on his own, limping slightly. He carried a stone bowl in his hands filled with red ginseng broth that Zheng Deli had brewed. He was silent, looking flustered and uneasy.

Langgan Guard called to him, “Here you are? Sit down, Minsheng.”

Chu Kuang sat with an awkward expression. Langgan Guard watched him out of the corner of his eye—those elegant brows and bright eyes, pale skin and dark hair—natural beauty that clearly resembled his mother. Even the repressed frustration in his expression was just like hers. The bite mark on his neck was visible, and he made no attempt to hide it.

After sitting in silence for a long while, Chu Kuang stammered,

“Dad… about last night…”

There was no need to finish—the topic was clearly the chaos between the two brothers. Langgan Guard asked, “What about last night?” while keeping a sharp eye on his expression.

“I…” Chu Kuang couldn’t get out another word. The tent felt stifling, without a trace of wind, as if everything had frozen still.

Langgan Guard suddenly asked, “Does Jingyu treat you well?”

Under that gaze, Chu Kuang felt utterly exposed. He mumbled, “Not… terribly.”

“If he mistreats you, don’t hide it from me.” Langgan Guard sighed deeply. “Minsheng, I can’t scold you two anymore. You’ve both grown strong wings and flown higher than your old man. I’ve failed in caring for you properly and can’t even face you. Jingyu is Emperor Bai now. I serve under his banner—how could I interfere? I only worry that he’ll hurt you.”

Chu Kuang hung his head, fingers twisting together. The brazier crackled, flames dancing in his eyes. After a while, he murmured, “I want… to stay with Jingyu.”

Langgan Guard said nothing.

“I was taught from a young age to ‘serve the Emperor with all one’s loyalty.’ Sometimes I’ve resented it—why was I born only to die for someone else?” Chu Kuang lowered his eyes. “But I no longer feel that bitterness. The long night has ended,²明夷 (míngyí) in the original text, it’s symbolize a time of suppression, exile, or obscured brilliance. A period where the wise or the virtuous are injured or hidden. It’s about light being wounded, not disappearing—but unable to shine freely. and now Penglai has the chance to rise under the daylight sun. I feel that if I stay with Jingyu, I’ll be able to witness that moment.”

Langgan Guard placed a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t doubt your choice. If you want to follow Jingyu, then go ahead. After all, you are his guiding star.” Chu Kuang nodded cautiously, his expression visibly lighter.

But the next moment, Langgan Guard’s face hardened. “But you’ve just recovered from serious illness. How can you follow him into wildness? He is to become emperor. He’ll have to name a crown princess—you think you can take that place? If you want to support him as a Xian Mountain Guard, fine. But what are you doing now? You’ve turned into his bed companion!”

Chu Kuang’s face turned beet red and he lowered his head, trembling slightly.

Langgan Guard patted his shoulder. “Go back and think it over. As subjects, we must know our place. Don’t overstep.”

Chu Kuang muttered, “But if the ruler commands the servant to attend the bedchamber… what can the servant do?”

Langgan Guard’s eyes widened in silence. He wanted to speak, but it was as if his throat were blocked. It was true—Fang Jingyu was Emperor Bai. If he wished it, what power did he have to stop it?

The two sat in silence by the brazier, listening to the branches crackling in the flames. Outside, the wind and snow howled, battering the tent. The chaos of the storm echoed their tangled hearts.

Meanwhile, Guixi was bustling with voices from dawn to dusk. Soldiers and common folk alike were out shoveling snow and breaking ice with tireless spirit.

Fang Jingyu had taken command of operations, ordering black powder to be ignited to blast through the ice wall. Once the ice chunks fell, others moved in to clear the path. Emperor Bai stood atop the red stairs, looking down at the small, ant-like figures toiling by the wall—each one so insignificant alone, yet together forming a massive dragon capable of devouring the icy barrier.

At that moment, a group approached him—Bai Huan Guard, Bi Bao Guard, Ruyi Guard, and Langgan Guard with their respective troops. They all knelt before Emperor Bai and cried in unison:

“Greetings, Your Majesty!”

As he looked at the bowed heads before him, a flicker of emotion crossed Emperor Bai’s face. His aged features held a trace of sorrow for the past. These weren’t the Xian Mountain Guards from his original world, but they were still familiar faces. He sighed and lowered his head. “Rise. I am not your Emperor Bai—merely an old man clinging to duty in a borrowed world.”

Bai Huan Guard lifted his face, eyes resolute. “Why say so, Your Majesty? You have devoted everything to Guixi—we are not your equals.”

Bi Bao Guard added, “If Your Majesty has any further commands, please speak them—we are ready.”

Emperor Bai gazed into the distance. Fang Jingyu stood upright before the ice wall, issuing commands—his figure tall and straight as a pine, already exuding imperial authority. The emperor sighed. “Penglai does not need two sons of Heaven. It is time for me to step down, to vanish into dust.”

Langgan Guard hurriedly said, “Your Majesty, that mustn’t be! You are our sovereign—how can you forsake us?” The other Xian Mountain Guards all nodded in agreement.

Emperor Bai smiled. “Seems that boy named Fang Jingyu still hasn’t fully won your allegiance. But he is fated to be the ruler of Penglai. I must make way for him.”

He looked away again, then suddenly inhaled deeply and called in a low voice, “Fang Jingyu, come here.” His inner strength was profound—his voice carried on the wind, reaching Fang Jingyu’s ears directly.

Hearing the summons, Fang Jingyu turned and saw Emperor Bai and the assembled Xian Mountain Guards standing on the red terrace. He strode toward them.

When he reached the emperor, Emperor Bai wore a faint smile. “You boy surnamed Fang, I wish to name you as my successor, but the Xian Mountain Guards are not willing. What should be done?” Before Fang Jingyu could reply, the emperor continued, “Let’s do this: at dawn tomorrow, come before the grand hall with blade and sword. I’ll have something to say to you then.”

Fang Jingyu couldn’t guess what this cryptic request meant and was still puzzling over it when Emperor Bai turned, hands clasped behind his back, and walked into the hall. Ruyi Guard approached with a grin and said, “Just do as His Majesty said! He has no reason to harm you now. Besides, he is you—where in this world would someone harm their own self?”

Fang Jingyu replied, “From what I’ve seen, he’s ruthless enough. When I first arrived at the city of Emperor Bai, he slashed me with a blade. The next time we met, he fought me with killing intent at every turn.” He then asked, “My Lady, what do you think the emperor plans for tomorrow?”

Ruyi Guard crossed his arms, grinning slyly. “Could be he’s calling you here to pass the throne!”

The next morning at mao hour  (5:00 AM – 7:00 AM), the sky was barely light. The mountains shone clear and clean, a band of deep blue slowly dyed golden by dawn. Frosted ice atop the grand palace roof shimmered like stars.

Below the red terrace stood ranks of soldiers, a mass of black heads packed like ants.

On this day, everyone who had come to Guixi set aside their tools—no more chiseling or shoveling. All gathered before the grand hall. For the first time in nearly a century, aside from ritual processions, this space was once again filled with a sea of people. There was no clear reason—only a sense that something extraordinary was about to happen. Even the wind today was cold and taut, as though heralding a great event.

Fang Jingyu stepped before the gathered crowd.

He wore simple black clothes, like a common officer. Blades hung at his back—a broken Vipashiyin Blade and the shining Hanguang Sword. Facing into the wind, he stood like a pure bamboo stalk untainted by dust.

The crowd held its breath, watching the grand hall. Behind gold-gilded dragon pillars, the tightly closed doors stood silent. The painted brackets had been worn by years of frost and time.

Stillness. No movement from within.

After a long wait, murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“I heard the old Emperor Bai lives inside. Today he’s summoning Officer Fang!”

Though many had already learned the secret of the Taoyuan stone gate, few besides the Xian Mountain Guards knew that Fang Jingyu and Emperor Bai were the same person. Another onlooker added nervously, “Wonder what His Majesty wants with Officer Fang today?”

“Maybe he wants to reward him with Immortal Elixirs and give him a high rank!”

The crowd whispered lowly, but unease lingered. Everyone felt this was no mere reward ceremony. Hearts tensed. The bitter wind scraped across faces like sickles harvesting grain.

Just then, a beam of light pierced the clouds like a veil cast across the layered roof. In this dawn glow, the swirling snow glittered like countless fireflies—warm and golden. The grand hall was bathed in a milky stream of drifting snowflakes. Then came the sound of boots crunching over snow.

The crowd went silent. All looked up toward the hall with reverence, as though witnessing a god’s arrival.

A voice came from behind the drifting snow, laced with amusement: “Not reward and rank—but the ascent to the throne.”

At that, everyone shivered and dropped to their knees in unison. A great pressure emanated from the red terrace above, sending chills through the onlookers. No one dared remain standing—

Except Fang Jingyu, who stood calmly before the crowd, both hands resting on his sword hilts.

In that moment, not only the Xian Mountain Guards—all present—were stunned. The guards had suspected this meeting was meant for one thing: for the emperor to pass on the throne. They had seen the weary old man on the moonlit platform—hoarse, white-haired, worn by years.

But now, they heard a voice full of youthful spirit.

Through the snow, a figure emerged—clad in a white brocade dragon-embossed silver armor, a pearl-inlaid snow-white headband, a sharkskin scabbard at his waist. He stood tall and radiant.

It was Emperor Bai.

But this Emperor Bai had visibly grown decades younger overnight—just like before his final expedition. Bright brows, dark eyes, a clear and otherworldly face. His armor gleamed like sunlight, as though shining with the heavens.

The crowd gasped and bowed again, shouting in chorus: “Long live the emperor!”

It all felt like a dream. The young sovereign descended the red terrace step by step, like he had stepped out of a painting. Each step struck like thunder, shaking wind and clouds across the land.

When he reached Fang Jingyu, the crowd realized: the two shared identical faces. One dressed in black, the other in white—they were mirror images. In that frozen instant, all wind ceased, snow hung suspended midair, no longer falling.

Fang Jingyu, however, saw faint black veins on Emperor Bai’s neck—he realized the emperor had taken Immortal Elixirs again to assume this form, even at the cost of his life.

Emperor Bai looked at him and smiled slightly:

“Fang Jingyu, you’ve endured countless trials—through the bleak Penglai, the storm-swept Yingzhou, the illusion-filled Daiyu. You’ve faced Yu Ji Guard, Mohe Guard, Yu Yin Guard, and Gu Bi Guard, and at last you’ve reached Guixi. This is your terminus.”

“And I,” said Ji Zhi, drawing his sword, “am your final opponent.”

The crowd raised their eyes as if beholding the blazing sun. They saw a brilliant sword, thin yet firm, gleaming with power that seemed able to rip apart the heavens. The youthful sovereign leveled the blade before Fang Jingyu, as if a mountain now blocked the path forward.

Fang Jingyu also drew the Hanguang Sword. Two blades of light crossed, reflecting cold radiance like frost and snow.

The dark-clad youth asked, “Your Majesty, you and I share the same cause—we both strive to hold back the snow and wind. Why must we cross blades?”

Emperor Bai’s gaze was calm. “So that the people may follow you with true devotion. So that all may unite, and break this ice wall together.”

He paused.

“So that you—may rise from Zhen to Li in Guixi.”

Heaven and earth stretched boundlessly, like a vast scroll. The two of them stood as brushes, ready to paint their mark across the canvas. The sun rose higher, golden light blazed, and clouds surged like stampeding horses roaring from the horizon.

The crowd held their breath. They knew that upon this desolate land, a battle to shake the world was about to begin.

Fang Jingyu looked at Emperor Bai—this version of himself who had endured just as much, only to fail. All this time, he had chased the emperor’s footsteps. Now, he would prove before all: he was not Emperor Bai. He was Fang Jingyu.

Northern winds howled. Snowflakes fluttered down, alighting on the sword tips like butterflies—then were split in two by cold steel.

The two men locked eyes, countless words exchanged in silence.

At last, Emperor Bai said, “Come then, Fang Jingyu.”

Fang Jingyu replied simply, “Please, Your Majesty—teach me.”

• 1
  reference drawn from the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) system in Chinese cosmology, particularly the I Ching (Book of Changes). 震 (Zhèn): the Thunder trigram, representing movement, initiative, beginnings. 離 (Lí): the Fire trigram, symbolizing clarity, illumination, and detachment.
• 2
  明夷 (míngyí) in the original text, it’s symbolize a time of suppression, exile, or obscured brilliance. A period where the wise or the virtuous are injured or hidden. It’s about light being wounded, not disappearing—but unable to shine freely.